iPoem · 143.350.955.276 · Cent mille milliards

1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb

Based on Raymond Queneau’s A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, The 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem is a non-commercial artistic project inspired by Queneau’s work and the tradition of literary variation it inaugurated.
→ iPoem 143.350.955.276 (no. 800,254) was generated on October 21, 2026 at 10:37 pm
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